An End of a Series
by The Mad Writer of Brooklyn
Summary: Well, since it will probably take Martin as long as it will take for the Long Night to come and go and come again to publish the last two novels, I figured I'd write a simple fic with small chapters and feature everything we really wanna see without worrying about Martin doing something really god-awfull like killing Tyrion, Dany or Jon- Jon is not DEAD! Enjoy my Madness, hahahaha!
1. Daenerys I

**Daenerys**

Dany looked out to the sea with excitement.

At last, she was crossing the narrow sea, at last, she was going home to her people!

A smile played on her lips as Drogon flew in and out of her sight.

"Your Grace enjoys the sea." A low, familiar voice said from behind her.

Dany turned around to see her Hand of the Queen, none other than Tyrion Lannister smiling up at her. Stunted and badly scarred, dressed in Lannister crimson and gold, his hair and beard wild, Tyrion had quickly become Dany's most trusted advisor with his quick wit, strong knowledge of their possible opponents and allies, his willingness to let his sister be killed and his acceptance, though reluctant, at allowing the kingslayer to be rightfully put to death, so long as she spared Myrcella and Tommen, allowing them to live as Myrcella and Tommen Water as wards of Casterly Rock.

"I enjoy the prospect of finally seeing Westeros." She beamed.

"Yes," he said sternly, "However the Conqueror Queen of Westeros must not act like a tittering child."

Dany rolled her eyes but put on a more serious face, you can't be Aegon the Conqueror with teats and act like a girl-child, "And you are sure Dorne will bend the knee?" she asked for the millionth time.

"Yes," The Imp- also called The Imp who Flies because he is rides Viserion- said firmly, "The Dornish are a hot-blooded people, who never forget a slight, and eager for revenge. Elia was a daughter of Sunspear and was murdered by the father of the woman who sits on your throne." Dany noted that he never spoke either of their names, "Though I think they may have some resentment towards Rhaegar kidnapping Lyanna and starting this whole shit-storm in the first place, their alliance with definitely ly with the woman with dragons. I assure, Princess Arianne will bend the knee faster than you can say: Dracarys."

In Dorne, at Sunspear, Arianne Martell, her brother, cousins and her retainers bent the knee faster than they could say Dracarys when she caught sight of Dany and Tyrion atop their dragons came into view over their castle.

Upon landing, the now ruling princess of Dorne rose and said, "My Queen! I will give you what my predecessor never gave to Visenya. I give you Dorne and all its swords to do with as you command in taking the rest of what is rightfully yours. And in doing so I ask for a pardon to house Martell and the others of Dorne for giving fealty to the usurpers." At that she sank to her knees once more.

Daenerys looked to Tyrion, who a gave slight nod of his head, "You are forgiven."

Arianne looked up then, and said, "Then may I present you with your cousin Aegon Targaryen."

Daenerys, having already expected this, said, "Where is he then?"

Aegon walked out from behind several retainers, dressed in the solid black and red of his family, Aegon said, "My Good Lady Aunt." With a regal bow.

Dany and Tyrion had already begun to mount their dragons once more, from Drogon's shoulders, Dany called, "You call yourself the blood of the dragon, then?"

"Yes, I am you brother's son."

Dany laughed at that, "I rather think not." She said, "Aegon the Conqueror, Aegon the Unworthy, Aegon the Unlikely, would you like it that we call you Aegon the Burnt Stick or Aegon the Imposter."

"I am no imposter, my lady!" the boy shouted.

"Indeed you are, my pisswater prince. Or should I say, the bastard of Driftmark."

Aegon paled, "Oh yes," Dany said, "I met your twin brother recently, Aurane. You look quite mature for a boy of six and ten, and yet you look more Velaryon than he does, or should I say, Targaryen."

Aegon Waters got to his knees, "Your Grace I beg your mercy," he looked to Arianne, shock written on her face as she backed away from the imposter.

"Do you know what I do will imposters, Waters?"

The bastard did not answer, so Dany replied for him, "I tell them, Dracarys!"

And Aegon the imposter went up in flame and smoke.

"Call your Dornishmen, Princess," Tyrion said, "We start for the Stormlands at dawn."


	2. Tyrion I

**Tyrion**

The Stormlands had been held by the Golden Company, who came out upon hearing the roars of the Dragons as they let lose their mighty fires. The Company had run out, seen the dragons and then all hell had broken loose, many of them running for their lives while an unfortunate few had stood, staring while simultaneously pissing or shitting themselves, and had been burnt alive.

Dany, having denounced the Baratheons as traitors, had named Old Lord Eldon Estermont as Lord of Storm's End. However, the excitement had caused the old man's frail heart to give out and he died at the age two-and-seventy. _What a way to die, _Tyrion thought with a toss of his head, _just after being given one of the seven kingdoms of Westeros._ Thus, Aemon Estermont ruled the Stormlands.

As Tyrion prowled the courtyard at Storm's End, he had a sudden feeling of claustrophobia, which coincided with the fact that he had never felt a more palpable happiness than he did atop Viserion, it was almost as if joy were a tangible thing he could touch, something very hot with rough scales.

Just then his mind was invaded with a strange tingling, he looked up and saw the cream and gold dragon circling overhead, ascending slowly towards the courtyard.

He felt somewhat apprehensive, leaving to go for a ride, thinking that Dany might need him or that he should go check on Penny, whom he had been neglecting of late, his poor friend who wouldn't leave him alone. She might want to-

"My Lord?" a tentative voice called from behind him.

Tyrion turned to see Missandei standing in the doorway that led to the castle. "Yes, Missandei?"

"The Queen requests your presence at her side for an important matter." The Scribe said tonelessly.

Tyrion narrowed his eyes at the girl, he could never tell with the girl whether or not she was bearing good or bad news, she mastered her face and her tones, making it impossible to know whether the Eyrie had bent the knee or if Daenerys had decided to execute him after all.

With a last, wistful glance up at Viserion, who was already floating back up, Tyrion Lannister walked toward the council room of Storm's End.

The council room of Storm's End was a large, domed room with stained glass windows and was housed in a building of its own with a round table set solidly in the middle.

Around this table was sitting Daenerys Targaryen, a step behind her, standing on either side was Barristan Selmy and Jorah Mormont, seated to her left was Aemon Estermont and to _his_ left was his son, Ser Alyn. Before them stood a man bedecked as a Grand Maester.

When Dany noticed Tyrion's entrance, she smiled his way, "My Lord of Lannister, I am glad you could join us, our Grand Maester here has something interesting to tell us, but would only say it in your presence. Come, sit next to me."

Tyrion waddled towards Dany and took the seat to her right, setting himself comfortably before he took a good look at the Maester's face.

He was an old man, in his late fifties, with fair hair and green eyes. "Tyrion, this is Grand Maester Tykore, he is the Grand Maester here at Storm's end but he comes to us all the way from your homeland."

Scrutinizing the man, Tyrion decided that he _did_ have the look of the Westerlands, and Tykore was a Westerlands name through and through. "Truly?" he said extravagantly.

The Old Man didn't reply at first, oblivious to the fact that Tyrion was addressing him, when he felt several pairs of eyes on him, he stuttered, "Y-yes m-my lord, and what I have to say concerns you."

Tyrion arched his eyebrows, "Really now? Well how wonderful!" Then, with a grand, circular gesture of his hand, he said, "Then please, proceed."

Tykore clasped his hands together and took his time to begin. When he finally gathered his thoughts, he said, "I was once a Grand Maester for the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. I gave my services to Lord Tywin Lannister and his wife the Lady Johanna. Late in the two hundred and seventy-fourth year after Aegon the Conqueror's Landing, Lady Johanna hosted King Aerys the Second at the Rock, as he was on a tour of the country, while her husband remained in the Capital. There were screams in the night, and in the morning the king and his retainers left hastily while Lady Johanna nursed wounds in all over her body. Lord Tywin returned soon thereafter and he never knew, in fact, the only people that _did _know were later sent on their way, myself included."

There was a heavy silence in the council hall, "Know what?" Dany said, shakily.

The Maester's eyes shifted between Dany and Tyrion, falling lastly on Tyrion, "I know that Tyrion Lannister is no Lannister at all, but a bastard of King Aerys the Second."

Only more silence followed.


	3. Sansa I

**Sansa**

Sansa Stark stood at the window of her room, overlooking the entire length of The Gates of The Moon, a whole five stories built into the mountain. The night was dark and moonless, and with what little light that the stars conveyed, Sansa saw that all was calm and good in the world outside.

Inside was another matter altogether.

Behind her, her "husband," Harrold Hardyng wrapped his arms about her waist and began to trail a line of kisses from her shoulder and up her neck.

For two years they had been "married," and for two years there had been no sign hither or thither of an heir. Sansa could tell that her husband, Lord Protector of the Eyrie and Lord of Mountain and Vale, was quite anxious to get her with child. He had sought her bed more often than not for the last few months, and every night since they had heard that of the Dragon Queen and her dwarf companion riding conquering Dorne and the Stormlands as if they were play castles. With an almost violent urgency, he took her in his arms…

Later, after attending to her wifely duty twice, Sansa laid awake in bed. Staring down at her handsome and gallant husband, she wondered at the time when all that would have mattered to her was how famous he was with a sword and how good-looking he was. Disdainfully, Sansa thought of how he hadn't made good on his promise to take her home, saying that the queen would surely want her head if she heard of Sansa Stark, "The Eyrie is impregnable," he had said, "Winterfell's a ruin." She thought of how she was certain he had poisoned Lord Robert, and how he had outright killed Littlefinger, gutting him like a fish. She shuddered, not that she had lost much sleep over the latter's untimely demise, it was only that she was horrified at her certainty of the matter of Sweetrobin's death.

She thought of how he had impregnated her maid Bella. And Bella had walked about the Eyrie flaunting her big belly before the Lady of the Eyrie. However, Bella had fallen ill and the babe had been born dead. She vaguely remembered the smug look on Randa's face when they had learned of Bella's "misfortune." _I must make Randa tell me what she put in Bella's beer._ She thought resolutely as she turned on her side. She doubted there would be a baby, Sansa knew there wouldn't almost, the Gods would never send forth bastard who would be given a trueborn name. Any child would not be a Hardyng but a Stone, she knew.

And now my lord husband is conquering Westeros upon a dragon.

The thought made her feel giddy. A strange laughter rose up through her gullet and she laughed into her pillow. _Perhaps my gallant husband will ride up to my window and spirit me away from this thrice-damned awful place. _She thought, _but that is as likely as the Hound climbing this mountain to save me. _And tears dampened her pillow.

With a sort of sorrowful abandon, Sansa rose from her bed and walked back to her window, observing the beauty of the stars. In King's Landing, the stars had seldom been so clear- Tyrion told her that that was because of all the torches that were lit at night- but the mountain had scarce a torch to speak of as the Vale unfolded before her. The Eyrie above, and below, the Mountain Clans. She stared out of the sky, staring, staring, staring, feeling nothing put a cold will to kick herself off the balcony, free fall for several moments, weightless as the little girl with a head full of dreams and a heart of gold as she went down, down, down then, she would welcomingly meet the harsh stones below, penance for standing by and watching a little boy be poisoned, for lying with a man not her true husband, for telling the queen of her father's designs. As Sansa Stark would die, she could pretend that her life hadn't happened. Her life would flash before her eyes from end to start. She would fly back up the mountain into bed with Harry. She would go back to a healthier, more annoying Sweetrobin. She would walk back up the path to her _husband_, climb back up the Eyrie, then down again, take a ship back to King's Landing. Joffrey's face would turn from black to purple to white and shining meanly again, and instead of ignoring him, she could turn to Tyrion and thank him for not being cruel as he could have, for attempting to provide comforts for her, for not lying and being something he wasn't. She would be at her own wedding, Joffrey would walk her back to her room from her wedding to The Imp. She would still be Joffrey's betrothed and plaything, the Hound would kiss her once again and she could that moment would last. Back farther, Sansa would walk away from the Queen and never tell her about her father, she would walk back and not fight with Arya but hug and kiss her. Back along the kingsroad and farther to Winterfell. She would have the Royal Party leave, and never come and she could sit at her window, waiting for them to come, with impatience and joy and delight and dreams. Forever, she would be the old, silly Sansa, the _happy_ Sansa. Sansa looked down, smiling at the rocks as if they were old friends.

Then, just as she was about to kick off, she heard the dragons scream.

Foolishly, she grabbed the knife she kept on the stand by her window, snatching it and pointing it out, as if a small steel knife could protect her from the dragons, she saw two now, a white one that stood out against the dark and a black one that that she could only see because it covered the stars.

"Sansa!" a frightened whisper called from behind her. Harry had gotten up from his bed and approached her quickly, "Is it-?"

"Yes, yes Harry, it is." Sansa said, closing her eyes. The steel knife was still in her hand.

The Lord Protector of the Eyrie looked like the frightened child he was, "I will call the men."

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, WAIT!" she jumped before him and blocked his way to the door, "Don't go just yet!"

"Sansa," he said, trying to move her, they were almost the same height, so Sansa had some ground on that, especially since she knew he wouldn't hurt her, not with the slight chance that he had gotten her with child, "move, Sansa, I must call my men!"

"The men will hear, but what will they do?" tears dotted her eyes, "Oh, _husband, _hold me, I am so frightened!"

Looking at the door, then back at her, he wrapped his arms around her holding her to him.

Swift as a deer, Sansa drew her knife from her hand and drove it into his back, deep as she could, and it went deeper as Harry tried to pull himself away from her, away from the pain, until, finally, Harrold Hardyng stiffened, and slid to the ground.

Her face covered with spattering of blood from Harry's mouth, her hands dyed deep red, Sansa Stark walked one more time to her window.

Holding the frame tightly with one bloody hand, she drew herself up and stood on the railing like some sort of mad woman: her hair messy, her face and hands bloody, her white nightgown, stained in placed with blood, blew about her in the cold wind. With her free hand she waved, calling, "It's Sansa Stark, _SANSA STARK! _Me, I'm Sansa Stark, help me! Help ME!"

The dragons drew towards her, black and white, and atop them an ugly dwarf and one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen.

"Tyrion!" she yelled, joyously.

Tyrion looked at her as if she were mad, _Doesn't he recognize me? _Thought Sansa, "Tyrion! It's me, Sansa!"

"Yes," he called, "I can see that, it is only that you are much changed, my Lady!"

"I've killed Harry the Heir!" she called back, and at that the Dragon Queen smiled a most lovely yet ironic smile, "And I wanted to thank you, Tyrion!"

"Well," The Queen called, "My brother told me you were timid and girlish, it seems he was wrong!"

Sansa smiled, calling back, "Yes, I think so!" Just as she thought, _Brother?_


	4. Daenerys II

**Daenerys**

The castle was grand. The Gates of the Moon was splendid with its large square towers and airy rooms. Sansa Stark, as Lady Protectress, had handed the Vale to Daenerys and bent the knee, proclaiming that it was never really hers to begin with, but Harry, whom everyone agrees was killed by a trigger happy Drogon. Dany, with Tyrion's advice, had decided to hand the Eyrie back to Sansa, who placed it in the hands of Bronze Yohn Royce.

Now Dany, Tyrion, along with the small host that had brought with them, marching through the Reach undercover as merchants from Dorne, were in the large council hall debating their next move.

Ser Barristan sat back and told them of the Reach, "We have House Hightower on our side. They decided they have enough Tyrell blood to claim Highgarden, and most of the Lord Willas' men are their own men. Leyton Hightower claimed that his house and most of the other Houses have decided to put their own in with the Dragon Queen, _they _remember the Gardener King it seems."

Dany smiled serenely, looking down at the map, parts which were marked with a small _T _for _Targaryen. _There started to be many, many Ts, "Good, so we have Crownlands surrounded, as well as the Westerlands. Any news from Aurane and the Iron Islands, has he been successful?"

Jorah Mormont cleared his throat and said, "The Reader of Harlaw has bent the knee, and has killed Jon Blacktyde and has given it to Rodrik. He is moving on Orkmont as we speak."

"Fantastic," Dany said, thoughtfully. "The Question remains: where do we turn our forces now?"

Tyrion, her new brother- Dany still couldn't believe it in joy that she had found family, but Tyrion was not so sure and had asked her to wait before legitimizing him as a Targaryen, said, "The Riverlands are the key to the Crownlands and the Westerlands, the more isolated they are, the more they'll be at our mercy. Once Aurane takes the Iron Islands, and if we send down Grey Worm and, say, seven hundred of the Unsullied from Storm's End to Dragonstone- which they could take easily what with Ser Loras the Burnt and his sad host holding it- we would have both surrounded. Once we're dealt with the Queen Regent, the Tyrells and the Lannisters, we can march a grand old host to the North, will Sansa Stark in tow, claim Winterfell, march farther to the Wall and deal with Stannis and his Red Woman."

"That would be a perfect plan," Brown Ben Plumm said cynically, "if your bitch sister didn't order some of her cloaks to attack us in the Riverlands if we spread ourselves to thin, unless we scorch the Earth and stores in Riverrun and starve the Capital out?"

Anger rose in Dany, "No, I will not starve millions of my people." She said firmly, swinging her gaze to Plumm, she said, "And if you make such a suggestion again I will wake the dragon and burn you to a crisp."

Plumm swallowed and said nothing, which seeped some of Dany's rage, "Arianne's men are marching to take the most Southron part of the Reach while Estermont's are going to lay siege to Highgarden with Hightower." Dany stated resolutely, "They have enough men between them to keep _their_ Kingdoms. Ser Jorah, I will send you to oversee the siege of Highgarden to keep Hightower honest with about a thousand Unsullied led by Jhogo. Another thousand will stay in the Stormlands with Aggo and a third with keep Dorne led by Rakharo. I will have Ruby take two thousand men through the Reach once Highgarden has been besieged keep Riverrun and guard the borders of the Crownlands and the Westerlands until the Reach and the Riverlands are secure, once the Iron Islands are taken, and we take Dragonstone, we shall march on the Capital and Casterly Rock. Meanwhile, my brother and I shall go and take Riverrun from the Freys."

There was a silence in the room, but it was a comfortable one of a type of anticipation for an interesting few months.

Straightening herself, Dany said, "Of course, as The Gate of the Moon is impregnable, we shall require some men from you, Lord Royce."

Dany actually didn't require men, but this was a small _test _Tyrion and she had worked out, to put certain lords in uncomfortable positions to see how they hesitated, but Lord Royce was quick to answer, almost _too_ quick, "Ah, yes, Your Grace, whatever you require."

After the meeting with her council, Dany began walking The Gates of the Moon and chanced upon Sansa Stark.

The red-haired girl stopped in her tracks in a sweeping bow to Dany, "Your Grace," she said.

"Rise, Lady Stark," Dany said, "We have discussed our plan to take back your homeland from the Boltons."

Rising, Sansa said, "Truly, your grace?"

"Yes," Dany said, "It will, however, be long it coming." Seeing the fall in the girl's face, Dany felt the need to elaborate, "The North is unpopulated and riddled with its own dealings with wildings and…other threats. Thus it does not pose a threat to the grand scheme to take over Westeros. However, if we were to take it, we risk being overrun with Cersei's men as well as the Tyrells'."

Sansa nodded agreement, "I see…" she said, "And…what will become of me?"

"We have not decided yet. You seem to be in relative comfort here, you are friendly with Myanda Royce, I take it? This Castle is the safest in the Seven Kingdoms, I can see no reason why you should want to leave this safety."

"But there is." Sansa Stark replied slowly, her blue eyes darkening, "The Lannisters killed my Father and lost my Sister. The Freys and the Boltons conspired with Tywin Lannister to kill my Mother and Brother. The Greyjoys killed Bran and Rickon, my Brothers. The Tyrells conspired to use me to take the North. I took by revenge on Harry. But the seeds of my revenge have been sown all around the realm and now they are ripe for reaping."

Daenerys smiled admiringly, _not timid or girlish at all_, she thought. The powers of Westeros did not only wake the dragons in Dany and Tyrion, it seemed, they had woken the Direwolf in Sansa Stark too.

_**Reviews are loved! Especially if they have constructive criticism!**_


	5. The Girl

**The Girl**

The girl stood in the streets of Braavos, the only still figure among the hoards of bustling fisher folk and merchants all going about their daily business.

It had been long since the girl had been one of them, selling her oysters to the masses, or begging for some spare coppers. Now, everything the girl did was had a purpose, she had given the gift to an innumerable amount of men all across the free cities. Now, as she stood there motionless, silent and unseen, she waited as a wealthy merchant received the gift she had given him.

Across from her, as flamboyant as a spring peacock, the merchant walked haughtily through the streets, his robes billowing in the smog with several lovely attendees surrounding him, all at his beck and call. The girl wondered if it was one of them who had asked the faceless men to give the Merchant the gift. But the girl pushed these thoughts aside, _a girl doesn't wonder these things,_ she thought, _another girl would, but not this one._

Suddenly, it happened. The Merchant with his pretty colors simply slumped to the floor, hitting it with a loud _thump. _But he had been dead long before that.

The girl turned on her heel and walked back to the temple of the many-faced god, light of heart. Braavos had become recently something of a home, a common denominator the girl could return to when she was not giving the gift. It was nice to sit with the Kindly Man and the Waif in the interludes between jobs. A warm bed, good food and rest by the fire, what could be better?

However, when she arrived at the temple, the Kindly Man had other plans for her.

"A girl has another one to give her gift to." The Kindly Man said, nonchalantly.

The Girl suppressed a sigh, _so much for bed, food and fire. _"Where is a girl to go?"

"A girl is to go to the Seven Kingdoms, and is to seek out Daenerys Targaryen, and give her the gift." The Kindly Man stated.

_Targaryen, _the girl thought. She knew the name meant something, something important but she couldn't bring herself to think it out loud. _The_ _Seven Kingdoms._

"A girl named Arya Stark was from the Seven Kingdoms." The Kindly Man said, reading her thoughts.

"Arya Stark is dead two years now." The girl said, feeling her eyes flicker and her mouth twitch.

"A girl remembers who Arya Stark was." The Kindly Man returned, suspiciously.

"Arya Stark is dead two years now." The Girl replied.

The Kindly Man did not reply to this, but swished away and out of the room.

That night, the girl could not sleep.

In her tiny cot, she tossed and turned. Before her eyes a million images slipped before her eyes, invading her consciousness as she vainly tried to shut her eyes away from them. Feeling the futility of doing so, the girl laid on her back and stared at the ceiling of her cell, contemplating the curves of the rock, and let the images pass by as she tried to count herself to sleep.

One, a boy giving her a very slim sword. Two, a mother's arms holding her tight, the smell of barley. Three, a grey castle with black smoke leaving its vents. Four, a red and blue girl and golden prince, she fights and beats the prince. Five, a boy torn apart. Six, dragon skull, black on black. Seven, a head shorn off. Eight, blue eyes and black hair- the word "stupid." Nine, The Hound. Ten, Ser Gregor, Dunsen, Raff the sweetling, Ser Ilyn, Ser Meryn, Queen Cersei. One, Ser Gregor! It was now like a madhouse inside the girl's head. Two, Dunsen! Three, Raff the sweetling! Four, Ser Ilyn! Five, The Tickler. Six, Ser Meryn! Seven, Queen Cersei! Eight, the Freys of the Crossing! Nine, the Boltons of the Dreadfort! Ten, Joffrey!

The girl sat up in her bed, Joffrey, one two three, Cersei, four five six. They had killed Arya Stark's father. Ser Ilyn had swung the sword. Ser Gregor was a monster, Ser Meryn too, both had helped bring down Arya Stark's father. Dunsen had taken Arya and two boys named Gendry and Hot Pie, Raff the Sweetling too. The Tickler did the torturing, _Is there any gold hidden in the village? Silver, gems? Is there more food? Where is Lord Beric? _Thrust,_ How many men did Lord Beric have?_ Thrust,_ How much gold, how much silver?_ Thrust,_ How many men?_ Thrust_ How many? _Thrust,_ How many? _Thrust, thrust, thrust.

Stabbing, blood, fighting, living this life, living it, living it was the girl. The girl, the girl was living, the girl was living Arya Stark's life. The girl was living Arya Stark. The girl was Arya.

THE GIRL WAS ARYA!

From the girl's small body, a life was being drawn forth. Slick, bloody and newly formed, this life spread through the girl, filling every nook and cranny, blooding running quick and quicker through the girl's veins, her heart palpitating as if to pump the blood faster and faster still. Arya seeped through the wall of the subconscious in which she had been held hostage and came back, more fully than ever before, and equipped with what she needed to answer her own prayer, the girl left the temple of the many-faced god. Speeding away, she knew escaping from the temple from the front steps was a mistake, but there was one last thing the girl needed before she could leave.

Wedged betwixt the steps to the temple, a silver object lay in wait, glinting in anticipation. The girl squatted in her tunic and trousers, and with a great heave, she pulled out the sword.

_Needle_.

Walking away from the temple, the girl remained behind but, sheathing Needle into her scabbard, Arya Stark made for the docks.

The Freys of the Crossing had better sleep wearily.


	6. Jaime I

**Jaime**

Jaime Lannister stood in his tiny inn in the Riverlands on the kingsroad, flexing his hand-less forearm. The day was cold, grey and dying already as the sky faded from grey, to greyer to pitch black as the light of the moon and stars couldn't quite filter through the heavy clouds. But soon enough the clouds cleared and the moon and stars shone through gloriously.

And Jaime could not have been more content.

The stars in the war torn Riverlands were much clearer than in the Capital, something about torches, he recalled, and Jaime was almost content to sit with his lady beneath the stars when their temporary tenants had all gone to sleep and were done being so demanding.

_Almost._

Sighing, Jaime looked down at his bare stump, soft, white skin stretched over the malformation that had once been his right hand, missing the feel of a blade, the heat of the fight.

His sword hand.

"Olyvar," a voice called from behind him. He turned his head to look at his wife. And decided she was beautiful.

Oh, surely, Brienne was not the conventional sort of beauty that Cersei was, but Jaime had decided that beauty and freakishness were the on same side of a single coin. There was something freakish about Brienne's wide mouth, but it was combated by the bright, blue pools that were her eyes, the freckles by the smooth texture of her skin, almost silk. And any other freakish feature could be defeated by the simple fact that she loved him, stump and all.

_Her _love was not an end to her own narcissism.

"Lorella," he replied, ''Wife," Jaime said for good measure.

Brienne smiled, a wide smile that showed two rows of crooked teeth, teeth he had run he tongue up against more than once…"It seems we are done for the night, husband," she arched her eyebrows, "shall I sit?"

It was Jaime's turn to smile, "But of course, milady."

She sat beside him, her skin brightened by the moonlight. Jaime observed her neck, the thick chords of it, white with freckles and a few love bites she had repeatedly berated him for, but the very idea that he was free to show his love for her had excited him beyond reprove, and he hadn't been able to help himself.

A chill swept through the air, and Goosebumps rose of both their skins, Jaime reached out and took his wife in his arms.

Jaime could not help but think of all the freedoms of the last two years. After Brienne had fought and defeated the-thing-that-had-been-Catelyn-Stark's champion, and the-thing-that-had-been-Catelyn-Stark had tried to kill Jaime, and Jaime had plunged a knife into the-thing's heart, the brotherhood had dispersed. Soon thereafter, feeling not particularly wanting to go back to the capital, and feeling more content in each other's arms, Jaime and Brienne had taken up the guises of Olyvar and Lorella Tarnister. Keeping a low profile had been somewhat of a challenge, Jaime had had to keep his head shaved and his stump hidden as well as possible in the early days, and Brienne had been forced to play the shy innkeep's wife, dresses, long hair and all.

Eventually, after Cersei had given up her half-hearted search for them, Jaime Lannister had been assumed dead, and no one scored the Riverlands looking for a hiding Kingslayer. Jaime had let his hair grow back, although it never regained its former gold and was currently a dirty blondish color, and Brienne had cut her and started to wear breeches and tunics again.

It was nice to see her in breeches and tunics again- although he silently missed the longish hair- for it was easier to contrast between her and Cersei. He would never let Brienne know but Jaime compared and contrasted everything Brienne did to what Cersei would have done. She hung over him like an emerald eyes ghost, shadowing Brienne, trying to infect her. And Jaime _had _to make the comparison, it was the only way her could live. Without it, his mind would be a constant fear of _what if she leaves me like Cersei did? _Then he'd think to himself, no, she carries herself differently than Cersei, or Cersei would never have the guts to prance around in tunics and breeches like it was the most regular thing in the world, and his mind would calm.

"What are you thinking?" Brienne asked, her head on his shoulder.

Jaime's emerald gaze met her sapphire one, "I am thinking, my lady love, that you are more beautiful than any other woman in all of Westeros, Essos, and Sothoryos."

Brienne's skin colored into a pale pink, "And you are a shameless flatterer."

Jaime laughed, "And while that may be true, I am not merely flattering you, I am speaking one of the single truths I know," he tightened his arms around her, and he buried his face into her neck.

"I love you," he whispered against her skin, "I love you, I love you, I love you."

"I love you," she replied, stroking his glory-less hair.

Their lips met, and two long bodies moved against each other in the dark, Jaime holding her tightly, as if for dear life.

He had heard of Daenerys Targaryen's landing.

At first, he had been hesitant in believing the travelers' tales, but then too many of them were compatible, too many talking of her imp companion, of the Direwolf Stark girl come back from the dead, and of their approach to the Riverlands…well, the last he had heard was that they had taken the Eyrie, and if he knew Tyrion, he knew that he would council her to take the Riverlands.

Jaime had been careful to keep Brienne out of the loop, which was actually pretty easy. She was very shy, rarely speaking with costumers and doing all the outdoor leg work along with Podrick Payne, who was even more socially out-of-the-loop than Brienne. He supposed she had a vague notion of some problems in the Stormlands and Eyrie, but not enough to think dragons and Targaryens.

Likely, vengeful Targaryens.

Jaime had no doubt that Daenerys would seek him out and execute him, likely burn him crispy, as well as his dear, sweet sister. No, no doubt that it was only a matter of time before Jaime's time would come, and thereby he would welcome the end, a sort of sad, twisted repayment of all the times he had broken sacred vows. All the times he had sinned against the laws of all gods and all men.

And the rhythm with which he and Brienne moved was not a rhythm at all, but another way to tell the time.

Jaime was just about to untie the strings of Brienne's tunic when, out of nowhere, he heard a bloodcurdling cry that broke the quite night air.

_So soon?! _His mind screamed, as Brienne broke their kiss. "What was…" she turned her head, and along with Jaime, saw the midnight shadow that was flying towards them then.

Brienne gasped, "Jai-Jaim-Jaime! Jaime! Wha-what is that?!" she untangled herself from him and stood up.

"My death toll." Jaime said, oddly calm, considering. He drew himself up with a sort of dignity only a man who had been broken had saved could muster, and said, "Go inside Brienne, go inside."

"Jaime…What do you mean 'death toll'? I think that's…"

"It's a dragon, Brienne!" he yelled, "A fucking dragon, and I murdered the rider's father! NOW GO THE FUCK INSIDE!"

But Brienne was frozen in her place, Jaime threw a glance at the dragon, then to his wife. With her eyes glued to the approaching dragon, Jaime knew she didn't notice him pick up the rock, and only felt the sharp pain as he clubbed her in the head with it.

Dragging her inside, Jaime managed to get her to the rug by the fire- FIRE! Jaime thought madly, FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!- and kissed her lips several time, savoring the taste of her mouth one last time…

And out he was again, ready to meet his fate.

The dragon hovered about twenty feet above him, giant and grotesque, "Jaime Lannister!" The woman atop it yelled.

She, too, was a freakish beauty, silver and white with amethyst eyes, "Queen Daenerys, a pleasure, I am surprised to see you so soon!" he called back.

"You know what crimes I condemn you with, kingslayer! Oathbreaker!"

"Indeed, indeed!" he cried back, bowing his head, and screwing his eyes shut.

"Any last words Kingslayer?"

Jaime looked up momentarily, "There's a wench in there called Brienne of Tarth, she was only three when I killed your father, she loves me though, gods only know why, but she is good and fair. Spare her I beg you and all the others in this establishment, known of them knew who I was. And please…tell my brother I am sorry."

An ironic smile played across Queen Daenerys' lips, she said nothing but inclined her head a small angle, then whispered something, to Jaime it sounded like, "_Dragonous_."

The fire spread before him, golden and red, with hints of green, engulfing him, surrounding him, burning him.

In the end, Jaime Lannister did not scream. For how could he? The fire was doing to him what Cersei had done a million times: it was destroying him.

But this time, Jaime was not breaking any oaths, even if it might've saved his life.

In the end, Jaime Lannister kept his vows.

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	7. Brienne I

**Andrich: **He has a lot to make up for after what he tried to pull with "Aegon."

**Darksnider05: **Well, when she kills Jaime, she doesn't know that, the only people who do are Brienne and Jaime. As for ''caring'' for her father, when I thought about her killing Jaime, it was more of to prove to everyone that you couldn't mess with her. I mean regicide and oath breaking, even if the cause is just, is still treason, she can't sent him on his merry way or they'll say she hasn't the heart for the tough stuff you need to do as Queen. The other option, the wall, wouldn't do either because high treason's only punishment is death, and even if Dany wants to be a kind and just ruler, she can't ignore the law that was founded by her predecessors.

**Kazper: **Hmm, You'll have not read on now won't you?

**Brienne**

Brienne of Tarth shook with incredible sobs as she sat by the fire. No use now, no use, no use, no use to try and do anything, the Targaryen Queen and her men had ransacked the inn looking for highborn hostages to take, but insofar had only found her and Pod, the rest were poor travelers and sparrows on their way to and fro.

Pod sat next to her, looking exceedingly uncomfortable as she cried loudly, as well as the few soldiers guarding them, but she could care less, Jaime was dead!

In her mind, it was like a mad house of feelings: panic, fear, hysteria, grief, as well as the aching she felt in her belly.

A tall, boorish man approached her, "Brienne of House Tarth and Podrick of House Payne, the queen requests your presence at once."

Wobbly and tired, Brienne stood up and made her way over to the guard with Pod, then walked the short walk from the parlor to the outside, where Daenerys Targaryen was standing in all her white-gold glory, her black monster circling overhead, making low roaring noises.

The queen, looking not-so regal in breeches and a leather jerkin, was an eye-catching beauty, but surprisingly small for a woman with so large a reputation, Brienne could see that she easily towered over her, and that Pod was a good hand-span taller.

_How is it that this little thing has managed to be a conqueror? _She wondered.

Turning to face them, the Queen said, "Kneel," in a commanding tone that allowed for no question.

Brienne complied without question, kneeling less-than-gracefully into the hard-packed earth, as Daenerys glided towards them with an easy grace.

She stood over Brienne, and said, "You are a traitor." The Queen said, simply. "You took up the bed of the Kingslayer, you were allied with the very man who killed my father. I will give you a chance to plea your case, as well as Podrick's. So tell me, why should _I_ spare _you_?"

For a mad moment, Brienne noticed two things. One, they hadn't thought to search her for weapons, and the dagger she bore on her hip was still there, concealed in a plain little scabbard. Second, that from this vantage point, she could get a lovely angle and plunge the knife into her heart, at least then her suffering might be less.

But the madness subsided and Brienne said simply, "Your Grace shouldn't." Hearing the little squeak from Pod, Brienne corrected herself, "I mean, Pod is an innocent squire who was looking for his Lord Tyrion's Lady Wife with me, he hadn't a place to go once we learned that Sansa Stark was dead. But Your Grace should not spare me."

Peaking up, Brienne saw a secret smile play across the woman's lips, "Oh but that would certainly be futile, would it not. If I were to return Selwyn Tarth's long thought dead daughter to him from the clutches of the Kingslayer, I would have the alliance of Tarth without having lifted my little finger."

Brienne shook her head, denying what she was hearing to the deeper parts of herself, "How did you find us we took every precaution?"

The Queen grinned, sadly, "A spider, there is, in King's Landing who always claims he serves the realm, and by default me, has many of his little birds flying about all three continents, they reach so far, even unto a tiny little inn on the kingsroad where the innkeep and his wife oddly enough refer to each other as Jaime and Brienne when they think no one listens. The Kingslayer thought he could escape, but the spider's web is larger than he thought."

"His name was Jaime." Brienne muttered recklessly.

The Queen tilted her head just so, "What say you?"

Brienne looked up, her reserves of grief, sorrow and longing breaking through: tears fell freely and sobs wracked her body, "Jai-Jaime! His name was Jaime!" Brienne then buried her face in her large hands, inconsolable for a long moment until something in her mind clicked, a realization that stunned her out of her grief and made her jump to her feet, "He didn't tell you. He didn't tell YOU!"

From the corner of her eye she could see two guards walking over but The Queen stopped them with a wave, then said, "Tell _me_ what?"

"He _saved _the city! He saved your goddamn capital from King Aerys, he intended to burn down to whole city with wild fire! Fire, fire, fire! He would have had his pyromancer puppet-hand have Robert ride in to a city of ashes! Half a million people, half a million people would have perished!" The sobs to hold once again worse than before. "And YOU KILLED HIM!"

Daenerys was staring long and hard at Brienne, "You know, it will be impossible to verify whether what you are saying is true or not, but I cannot say why or how you could make up such a fantastical story unless it was true, or the King- or Jaime Lannister was lying to you."

Brienne shook her head like an obstinate bull, "No," she said firmly, then realizing how far she had overstepped her boundaries she added, "Your Grace, Jaime had no reason to lie to me at the time when he told me, he was suffering from a fever."

Queen Daenerys seemed to take in all this quite gracefully, however Brienne knew these Ladies know how to mask their feeling with icy indifference, and for a second Brienne thought she would be dismissed when the Queen added, "Jaime Lannister asked me to do two things, one of which was to spare you." Daenerys lifted her chin haughtily, "And I am not one to ignore a man's final requests, even if he was a kingslayer."

Brienne could only nod when another monster fell from the sky, this time a cream and gold one, though, and climbing off of it was none-other the Tyrion Lannister, the other Lannister Kingslayer.

Too stunned to speak, Brienne looked on with a sort of morbid fascination as two of the most contrasting people interacted with each other with almost an affectionate manner.

The imp bowed gracelessly and then straightened himself up and set with a slight upturning of the corners of his grotesque mouth, "I have taken Riverrun from the Lannisters."

_How strange the manner with which he says Lannister, almost as if he wasn't one. _"Good," Daenerys replied suspiciously, "You rode all the way here to tell me that?"

The imp bristled in his spot for several moments, before saying, "No, I did not." He paused, "I bring you two pieces of news."

Daenerys smiled an ironic little smile, "Good news and bad news?"

The imp narrowed his eyes and moved his head sharply- a nervous tick, "More like good news and unbelievable-maybe-good-and-maybe-bad news."

Another pause, then he finally said with a sick smile, "The good news is that Walder Frey and most of his sons and daughters died last night, a large slaughter, all in their beds- and while I know you do now consider mass death good news, this simply means that…The Usurper Queen is one more ally short."

The imp, known for his quick wit throughout the kingdom, the wise guy from Jaime's story, seemed awfully slow to Brienne when he paused yet again. And yet he felt that perhaps this was because his brother had just been burnt by his queen. "And the unbelievable-maybe-good-and-maybe-bad news?" The Queen queried.

He jumped, "Ah, as for that, well, we will meet him once we go to Riverrun, and I saw him with mine own eyes and heard him speak with mine own ears, I know for a fact that Jon Snow is indeed alive, and eagerly awaiting a chance to meet with your Grace."

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	8. Jon I

**stark22: **I'm sorry for that, but I'll remind you that this story is meant to be everything the series won't end up being, therefore I try to make it insane and outlandish just for the sake of I Can before the cannon stuff is available.

**Jon**

The sun had fallen, and risen again, falling and rising in four-and-twenty hour cycles for three day, and when the sun had risen on the fourth day, in the stark and grey skies of the winter, three dragons, and beneath them a thundering host bearing the banners of red, three-headed dragon on black.

Anticipation flooded Jon's system, causing a chill that made him dizzy.

Jon shook his head and drew his coat closer around him, ever since his _death_, he had been prone to chills and aches whenever he experienced intense emotion.

And what could be more intense than a meeting Queen Daenerys?

Finally, the two of the three dragons ascended downwards, some ways away from the castle just as the host reached Jon with Ghost at his heels, and the lady Melisandre came out just them to look in awe upon the fire made flesh.

"Jon!" a girlish voice shrieked from somewhere behind him. Jon began to turn round to see who it was who had shouted, the voice eerily familiar, when his arms were bombarded by a red-haired girl who through her arms around his neck and kissed his cheeks several times, "Jon, Jon, Jon, it is so great to see you, brother! I have missed you."

"Sansa!" Jon gasped, pushing her back and holding her at arm's length, "Is it really you?"

Teary eyed and flustered she was, Jon knew that this manner-less girl who was hugging him could _not_ be manner-full Sansa who only referred to him as half-brother. And yet, it _had _to be Sansa, the auburn hair and the blue eyes were just right, the fair complexion with the light freckles as well, and did not she look every bit like Catelyn Tully dressed in white and grey?

"Yes," she said, "Yes, though I am much changed it is me, Jon, brother."

In disbelief, Jon hugged Sansa once more with Ghost yapping at her heels, feeling tears for all their lost siblings rise up within him once more.

After a long moment, a high and sweet voice announced, "Please behold Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protectress of the Realm, Light of the East and Mother of Dragons!"

Gathering himself properly, Jon let go of Sansa and whirled around to behold the most beautiful woman he had ever encountered.

Daenerys Targaryen, though small, stood grand and lovely before him and extended her hand forward for Jon to take. In reply, Jon took the Queen's hand, kissed it and bowed before her. "My Queen," he whispered reverently.

From behind, Melisandre walked herself over to the queen and bowed as well, "Dragon Queen, I am your humble servant."

When they both straightened up, Daenerys said, "Ah, Jon Snow and Stannis Baratheon's Red Woman, an odd pair indeed."

Melisandre drew herself up proudly and said, "I am not the would-be usurper's woman, your grace."

Daenerys narrowed her eyes shrewdly, "And yet you headed a campaign to put him on the throne and crown him as Azor Ahai reborn, why the sudden change of heart?"

Jon looked at Melisandre, who looked at him back with a hard expression, then Jon turned his gaze to the queen, "That is a long, and unbelievable story that would merit a telling by the fire and heard by your small council."

It took a few hours, but Jon, as the de-facto castellan of Riverrun, had managed, with the help of the Stewards, to house the Queen's men all and have them fed from the ample living supply brought from years and years of generous harvests.

Finally, the Queen, Tyrion Lannister-who-was-not-an-actual-Lannister, Sansa, Melisandre and Jon with Ghost laying idly at his feet, with a few guards scattered about, were sitting in Riverrun's council hall, neglected plates of food on the table, and were deep in conversation.

"…And after that silly horn of Victarion's failed, unsurprisingly I might add, it was beyond simple to bring down his _iron fleet _along with the second suns…" Tyrion was saying.

After the Queen, Tyrion and Sansa had finished their story up to the Kingslayer's death and the removal of his lady wife Brienne back to her home in Tarth, an awkward silence took hold as the odd trio waited for Melisandre and Jon to relay their stories.

"As you all probably know," John began, "I died, for real."

There was a heavy silence, until Sansa said, "But certainly you couldn't be truly dead, how are you here then?"

Melisandre chimed in, "Ever since the birth of Our Queen's Dragons, the power of the priests and priestesses of R'hllor has grown substantially."

"So after I died, my _brothers _threw my corpse into the snow in dishonor for my unworthiness of being properly burnt. The Lady Melisandre managed to find and revive me before I was taken by the Others."

"While that is all well and good," Tyrion said, "It still does not explain why my men found the two of you wandering on the outskirts of The Neck."

"Well," Jon began, "the truth is, during my time on the Other Side, I saw many strange and arcane visions. Dragons, blood, ice, fire, a sword splitting in three. A single dragon dividing into three. I saw the whole of Westeros, as you might see it on a map, glow in the east and west and north with blood and fire. I would not have put much into the visions, save for the fact Melisandre had the exact same visions."

"So we decided to test a theory," Melisandre chimed in, "And journeyed to Greywater Watch to meet the only person who would have the answers to our questions."

Sansa, Daenerys and Tyrion were all leading forward in their seats in anticipation, "Howland Reed is the only living soul that knows what truly transpired that day in the Tower of Joy." Jon said, "And he told me, finally, where I come from."

"You see, it turns out that," he looked at Sansa for a moment with a sort of regret, then said, "That I am not of the North because my father was Ned Stark, but because my mother was Lyanna Stark."

Three gasps were uttered across from Jon, wide eyed Sansa, grim-looking Tyrion and shocked Daenerys stared at time in silence until the Queen finally stuttered, "S-s-so, so Rhaegar is your father then, it's true?"

But Jon shook his head at that, "It is true that she had run off to be with Rhaegar, but when he made the mistake of bringing her to King's Landing to hide her within the safe confines of the Keep. They'd intended on marrying in the manner of Visenya, Rhaenys and Aegon had but, in a fit of red-rage the King had taken Lyanna and, sure that he had impregnated her, he had sent them to the Tower of Joy where surely enough she had me."

Jon looked at the Queen apologetically, he assumed she did not repeatedly enjoy hearing of her father's- their father's- carnal activities as she had heard them of Tyrion's birth and now this, but Daenerys had simply leaned back in her chair and said, "So what was your theory then?"

Prompted, Melisandre said, "The dragon has three heads. The Price that was Promised, Azor Ahai, the Last Hero, whatever you want to call it, it's always under the sign of fire, and who else is made of fire but the Blood of the Dragon? Of late, when I look in my fires and ask to see my price, I see Snow, I see Fields of Gold and I see Silver Blood, all three swirling together, amidst the flames and the smoke, three, originally one, joining ever closer to defeat the Other."

Before the speaking could continue, Jon said, "We both thought and agreed that the Prince that was Promised, just as it is not necessarily a prince, doesn't necessarily have to be a singular entity, but three that joined as one."

A cackle escaped Tyrion, "Please tell me that you're not saying that the three of us are the Prince that was Promised."

Jon smiled wickedly at this, "I could, but it makes sense doesn't it. Over three centuries ago, Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys became the conquerors of Westeros because Daenys the Dreamer predicted that Doom who hit Valyria, so they took Dragonstone and then the West. We stand here today not much different, joined by blood and a prophecy."

Daenerys' eyes darted between Jon and Tyrion, but settled on Melisandre, "And your fires confirm this Lady?"

Four pairs of eyes swung toward Melisandre, who looked down and said, "Indeed, I do believe that I was looking at the right bloodline but the wrong descendent, and complying with the prophecy made to your great-grandfather, as well that Azor Ahai would be born through three unions, I believe it is so."

At that Daenerys jumped to her feet, "Then, there is only one thing we must do to assure this truth," she smiled predatorily at Jon, "My brother must call his dragon."

In the Riverrun courtyard, most had cowered in fear, including the still somewhat-timid Sansa, and now only a few brass-balled guards, Jon, Daenerys, Tyrion and Melisandre stood awaiting for the grand moment.

The three beasts had been circling about recently, and could be seen well against the grey sky: black, cream-and-gold and green.

Jon was standing slightly ahead of the others, looking at the green dragon that had been proclaimed his, if he dared.

To be perfectly honest with himself, Jon knew he had no idea what to do with the dragon, or how to call it. But he stood his ground and simply repeated the name in his head and focused his grey gaze on the green dragon, "Rhaegal, Rhaegal, Rhaegal, Rhaegal…"

For the longest time, nothing had happened, the dragon had simply circled and circled. Jon had almost been ready to give up when finally, FINALLY!, the dragon had soared towards them, lowering and approaching at a great speed until Jon could see the enormity of the beast, the very grotesqueness of its face and fire of its flesh.

And yet Jon could do nothing but feel a strange sort of affection for the beast, it was smaller than his brothers and no as grand, a strange sort of familiarity formed between them instantly as the creature landed before him and, oddly enough, bowed.

A collective _hush _fell over his audience as they observed this strange ceremony of sort. Jon was just about to mount his dragon when the voice of Missandei the Scribe interrupted him, "Your Grace!" the voice cried.

All eyes turned to her, accompanied by an Unsullied, flustered and terrified, the girl was, she said in a shaken voice, "An army bearing the flaming heart banner approaches from the North!"

After that there was yelling, calling, shouting and screaming. All trying to get in order, all trying to prepare for the Siege of Riverrun.

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	9. Tyrion II

**TYRION**

For Tyrion Lannister, it had been an odd few years, that were only getting odder exponentially.

First, he was able to tame a dragon, then he learned it was because he was the bastard of Aerys the Mad, then he discovered that Sansa was alive and well and living as the wife of Harry the Heir Hardyng- he could crush Littlefinger's skull for that one. After that, he found out that Jon was also Aerys' bastard by Lyanna Stark. And the crowning glory…that he, Jon and Daenerys were each one third of the Prince that was Promised.

_Next I will learn that I am not a dwarf indeed, but I am surrounded by giants._

The thought made him grin, _Stranger things have happened._

As he walked along the rows of men, Riverlanders who pledged their houses to Queen Daenerys the First of her Name, regarding their formations with a wary eye, the Baratheon men would be arriving any day, nothing could go amiss with the Queen present.

And he had begged her to leave to the Stormlands were it was safer, or join the journey to The Eyrie with most of the Riverlands' women to the safety of the castle. But the Queen scoffed at his requests and had yelled that she wasn't a child in need of safety, his sister was certainly difficult to deal with, but so was his lady wife.

Oddly enough, Tyrion felt very relaxed when the words sister and wife passed his mind, which had never happened before in his entire life.

Indeed, while he had almost immediately struck a sort of bond with Daenerys, more now that they were family, he was surprised to find that Sansa was actually starting to warm up to him. She called him Tyrion and smiled whenever he was by and talked to him in earnest. Yet, she wasn't innocent or idealistic anymore either, she scoffed at being treated gently because of her sex, and had yelled almost as loud as Dany had when he and Jon had implored her to join the host that was going to The Eyrie to have the women safe under the protection of Yohn Royce. Tyrion wanted to know more details of what had happened to change her so, but he couldn't bring himself to be quite so familiar.

Tyrion moved through the ranks with ease, the sort of ease one only got from having only seconds ago gone circling about upon a mighty dragon with his sister the Queen, and now men lowered their eyes to him in awe and respect from braving the beast.

He didn't want to admit it to himself, but it made him feel pretty darn good about himself.

As he picked his way back to the council room, Tyrion walked through a tight-for tall people that is- and dark corridor, a shortcut, there was some sort of comfort for Tyrion in the dark, as he knew his way, knew he was alone, it was another bit of happiness he had found on his journey home. Then, suddenly found himself colliding with a body almost the same size as him.

In the darkness he heard cursing in the Common Tongue and Braavosi, an odd combination indeed, but the words in the Common Tongue had a drawl he recognized in Jon Snow and recollected in Ned Stark.

"Who are you?" He said to the darkness, grouping the air and connecting with an arm.

"No one." The voice said.

There was a half-hearted struggle in the darkness, for he supposed whoever it was had an idea of who Tyrion was, and finally, Tyrion has two skinny arms in his hands and led them through the rest of the corridor and into path leading to the Council hall.

Tyrion gasped when he finally beheld the skinny armed culprit. "You!"

"Yes, Imp," Arya Stark said, rolling her eyes, "It is I," she said grandly, grinning wickedly, "And _I _am here to see my family, who I have heard are here present with you and the Dragon Queen."

Tyrion couldn't help but smile at the Stark girl, the very image of the North before him, the scheming part of Tyrion was glad because this would allow them to claim the North in Sansa's name without a doubt in her identity, what with the very image of Ned Stark in this child, and yet there was another sort of glad in Tyrion, gladness for his Lady wife and brother.

Jon was _his _brother after all.

Side by side, with almost no height difference, Tyrion led Arya Stark into the Council chamber.

The reunion had been sweet, tears and cheers and laughs, lots of hugging and storytelling and basic fluff between the two Stark girls and their half-Stark cousin.

But the fluff was gone now as the enemy had now Raventree Hall and were crossing the Red Fork.

They all knew that the crossing of the Fork was when their enemy would be at its most vulnerable, thus Jon and Tyrion had led the attack on the ground while Dany, the most expert in Dragon-flying, was waiting up in the air in case their infantry and mounted soldiers were being overwhelmed, one blast from Drogon would likely destroy everything in its path, and the Queen wanted to avoid loss of life as far as possible.

However, Tyrion could tell at once that they would probably be forced unleash Drogon's wrath. Stannis had obviously put his entire power in this attack, a last stitch effort, Tyrion supposed, to try and die victorious, taking as many people with him as possible.

They called to each other over the river, "_Stannis Baratheon!" _Tyrion shouted, "_Surrender now to the rightful queen, through whose bloodline your claim comes and you will be allowed to take the black, your daughter will be married to the Estermont heir, your wife will be allowed to live the rest of her days in Brightwater Keep and all of your men will be allowed back into the fold."_

Tyrion already knew the reply, he had known Stannis, and of Stannis, well enough to know that there was no way he would except defeat to a dwarf, a woman and a bastard, even if they had dragons. Stannis replied, "_Imp! You already know my reply. I am the male heir to the Targaryen Throne, I will not be sent to freeze my arse off at the wall by some barbarian whore from the East who knows nothing but has a few flaming lizards!"_

Jon and Tyrion looked at one another, shaking their heads, "_So be it, then," _Jon called, "_Stannis of House Baratheon, you are hereby condemned of High Treason, stripped of your titles and are sentenced to die. Any man in your service who wishes to be pardoned will do so now, otherwise, you too are condemned of High Treason and will be dealt with accordingly after this day is over."_

More men than Tyrion had expected urged their horses forward, crossing the Fork and standing upon the bank with Jon and Tyrion, more and more men crossed thereafter, throwing down the Baratheon banner, until almost half of Stannis' host had joined the Queen.

"_Still ready to fight, Stannis?" _Tyrion called then.

In response, Stannis had one thing to say: "CHARGE FOR THE LORD OF LIGHT!"

At that both armies swarmed towards each other, and a song of steel on steel sang throughout the field and the fork. Stannis' army was held back for the longest time, until Stannis finally marched forward, bearing his great, glowing sword to the other side of the bank and started engaging soldiers in combat.

The man fought like a demon, desperate, mad, one man he killed was one of his own, one who hadn't crossed. Until finally he reached Jon and Tyrion and engaged the both of them with his glowing sword.

Jon and Tyrion fought against him for a long time, until finally, with the sword that had been given to him by Brienne, which he had handed to Sansa, who had handed it back to him, Oathkeeper, Tyrion delivered the final blow by gutting Stannis Baratheon like a fish.

Stannis' eyes darted left and right a mad man's and then settled on Tyrion's, before the bright blue eyes shut forever. The body slumped heavily to the ground with a large _thump_ that made shivers run down Tyrion's spine: the death was messy, the death of someone Tyrion had known and not entirely hated, the better Baratheon that was for sure.

Lord Stannis Baratheon was dead, and when they saw him fall, his men all through their weapons to the ground, surprising Tyrion- but then, who would they fight for? An eight year old, sickly girl? Not when there was Dany, he thought.

Back at the castle, Tyrion sat with Jon, Dany, Melisandre, Missandei, Sansa and Arya at the Mead Hall's high table, drinking himself into a slight stupor and listening to the not-so-idle conversation about him. Aurane was still having trouble taking the Islands, but they were almost fallen: only Pike and SaltCliffe stood in his way. Highgarden, with most of its men in the Crownlands, had also fallen quickly, but Jorah's host had suffered a great loss of life, including Dany's bloodrider Jhogo, the horror of who's loss was written all over Dany's face. Things were falling into place for them, and with a severe dread and anticipation, Tyrion knew that the next step was to divide their men and conquer the Crownlands and the Westerlands. They had already planned the attacks, when they came, Jon would lead the host for the Westerlands, they would fall easily what with their occupation preventing help from being sent- they had already intercepted many groups of soldiers sent as aid, and Daven Lannister was hardly suitable to hold a siege against Jon's host. And he and Dany, along with the vengeful Stark girls and an even larger host, would ride to the Crownlands, march straight to the Capitol and make death…

Cersei's death.

The thought almost suffocated Tyrion as he sat, not that he cared, why should he? Yet he couldn't help but wonder: was she alright? Was Tommen? Did she know that he had talked to Myrcella, had told Myrcella the truth? And that Myrcella, at twelve, had cursed the curses of a woman of two-and-ninety upon her mother and father? _Cersei, _he thought, _Do you see what you have done? _A shadow glimmered in the corner, and for a moment Tyrion saw gold and green, _You could have made Robert love you, if you let go that one slight, you could have protected your family from its peril, Myrcella and Tommen could have been happy. Joffrey might not have been the monster he was. You could have lived, sister. _

Tyrion swallowed, he wondered if his sister had spared him a thought, or if she had truly spiraled into madness as they said.

Only time would tell.

**Reviews are loved.**


	10. The End of the End

**So Basically, I'm sorry to all my readers who followed, favorited and reviewed this story but I'm not going to be continuing this. I've felt distant from this story for a long time and family things and just creative issues have made it impossible for me to continue writing. I know this makes me sound like an asshole, and I probably am, but I just can't bring myself to continue with something that I have lost passion for creatively because it feels hypocritical and mean. And I know what you're thinking, how hard can it be to write a little story with less than 2,000 words a chapter. Well, for me it is very hard to write without feeling and everything I have attempted to write has fallen bland. However, I did plan what I intended the ending to be, so I figured I'd just state the events that followed where I left off and be done. Again, I know I'm an asshole but I hope this makes up for it.**

Jon takes the Westerlands and names Aeron Lannister Castellan and Warden in Tyrion's place.

Dany and Tyrion successfully take the Red Keep. Cersei's prophecy is fulfilled in that Arya strangles her as Sansa watches.

After Daenerys is proclaimed as the unopposed Queen, they march North where they see that most of the Northmen have died, as well as the free folk and a reign of terror looms above the wall as history repeats itself and a new Night's King has risen in the form of Rickon Stark who has taken Meera Reed as his Ice Queen, as we learn that Ser Davos died in Skaagos from a terrible fall and the Skaagosi brought Rickon back.

So Dany, Tyrion and Jon battle the White Walkers as Rickon and Bran duke it out. Finally, the spell cast by the White Walkers is lifted through Bran and Bloodraven's magic when Bloodraven sacrifices his eternal life to give life back to Meera and Rickon and Bran becomes a weir and his first order of business wipes out the White Walkers and restores the wall.

So, eventually, Dany and Jon tie the knot.

Tyrion and Sansa return to the Westerlands and rule there.

Arya marries Gendry and they rule the North until Rickon comes of Age.

Brienne gives birth to a baby boy she names Jaime and he becomes the next lord of the Westerlands after Tyrion and Sansa age childless.

Dany and Jon don't have children either, so Shireen Baratheon becomes the Queen of Westeros after them.

As the last of the Targaryen blood died, there were no more dragons after Dany's three.

**The End**

**So yeah…that's how it would've ended. If there's anyone who I left out that you want me to tell you how they ended up in my head-canon, drop me a line in a review or a PM and I'll be sure to answer you. It's the least I can do after all. So, please don't hate me forever.**


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